Chapter 7: While the Sky Wept


Last chapter: The rain poured down in silent witness to the clamorous cries of the Finder and the pale exorcist as they struggled with the unresponsive bilk of the Japanese ma, further drenching their already-sopping clothes and stinging the laid-back ears of the two remaining horses, who continued down the muddy morass of the trail to a last sharp turn. The scraggly forest opened up and there, barely a hundred yards away, were the towering wrought iron gates of the mansion.


A few brief moments later, the Finder and the young exorcist were on foot and tussling with the boneless weight of the raven-haired Japanese man while simultaneously fiddling with the latching mechanism of the gate.

"Bugger!" Samuel growled, sucking on the unlucky finger that had been pinched by the heavy spring of the lock. His nursing of his wounded appendage thoroughly distracted him from supporting his limp comrade so Allen found himself staggering with the sudden application of increasing increments of weight of unconscious flesh. Kanda's feet hit the ground with a dull thud and the brown-haired Finder swore again, looking sheepish. Allen glared at him furiously. Kanda's head was beginning to vanish into the neck of his uniform as Allen's grip on the fabric of his sleeves pulled the long coat up and gravity pulled the flaccid body down.

"Sorry," Samuel said quickly, his face apologetic as he bent to snatch up the booted feet once more. "I can't figure out how this damn thing opens."

"Let me try," Allen sighed quietly and the two shuffled back and forth awkwardly with Kanda's body dangling by his limbs like some bizarre marionette between them. Once in front of the heavy lock, Allen faced a new dilemma.

"Hey, Samuel," Allen finally spoke. "Let's put him down for a bit while I work on this, okay?"

"You were the one who didn't want him on the ground in the first place," Samuel snapped back and the two of them dropped their unconscious companion unceremoniously on the crushed gravel apron of the path leading to the mansion. Both of the two left standing felt suddenly contrite and the pale teen bent and checked the back of Kanda's head, his gentle fingers probing under the long dark hair.

"No blood. He's okay," Allen reported.

"I guess okay is a relative thing at this point because generally being completely unconscious for no apparent reason hardly qualified as being okay," the stressed Finder remarked quietly.

"Yes, well," Allen muttered as he began working with the lock. He produced a long-handled pick from somewhere inside of his long-sleeved jacket. The brown-haired Finder glanced at his askance but didn't ask. Allen caught the elder man's eyes and just grinned at him from under a fringe of white bangs.

"I had to pick up a few tricks when I was with General Cross," he said by way of explanation and his expression became fierce and dark, much like when he played cards. A few pointed, sharky teeth had appeared and the oh-so-innocent vibes that the pale boy usually radiated were replaced by malicious waves of ill-intent.

"Right," the Finder breathed out slowly while edging back from the younger boy whose attitude swiftly shifted again as he returned to his commonplace cheerful mood once more.

"Old locks like these are a piece of cake," the grey-eyed exorcist chirped confidently, removing the glove on his left hand in order to more accurately guide the hooked end of the pick which was currently inserted deep into the bowels of the lock. Clockwork intestines were prodded gently before Allen's wandering lock pick found what it was looking for: a place that, when twisted slightly to the left, caused the sturdy inner workings of the lock to shift and glide against each other. The heavy bar at the top of the lock sprang open and Allen stepped back from his handiwork with a wide smile.

"Amazing," the Finder praised with relief evident in his voice, rubbing his hands together.

"Isn't it?" Allen agreed in a rare moment of self-congratulation. The rain was pattering down just as heavily as ever, completely unconcerned with the scene playing out below. The sky above rumbled threateningly and Allen glanced up, his pale grey eyes reflecting the darker hues of the grim rain clouds. The smile slipped from his face and the delicate-looking exorcist's features rearranged themselves in a somber frown.

"Get the horses please, Sam," Allen directed wearily. The Finder slicked back his short brown hair with one careless hand and the result was a thatch of messy chocolate as each strand was plastered to the others by the heavy application of water.

"Sure," the strong, chestnut-eyed man said, leaving Kanda on the ground with Allen so he could collect the horses, who had drifted back into the semi-shelter of the trees. The rain had made the rusty smear on the stud's shoulder run so that the dark, ruddy color trailed down its leg to stain the wispy hairs of its fetlock. Neither horse responded to the gentle pressure that Samuel exerted on their bridles when he had gathered up their reins, choosing instead to lock their knees and allow their necks to stretch rather than take a step. Sam's brown eyes narrowed and he swore quietly then pulled harder, putting his weight into the movement. The horses resisted for a while longer before capitulating to his wished ungracefully. Gravel crunched softly as the Finder led the exhausted animals onto the path. Allen acknowledged their approach with a nod of thanks as he beckoned for the brown-haired man to help him.

"Are you going to put him on a horse?" Samuel asked, referring to Kanda as he looped the grey stud's reins around one of the bars of the gate.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to carry him and unless you can get him to stand up and walk, there's no other choice. Or would you like to carry him on your back?" Allen would have liked to have infused his words with sarcasm, but he found that his emotions had flat-lined during the Finder's brief absence.

"We should probably put him on my horse," was Samuel's response. "The grey Kanda was riding is limping."

"Fine, just help me lift him," the cursed teen replied, bending down to grab Kanda's wrists. The Finder returned to his post at the swordsman's feet, but made no move to hoist his end of the body. Just as Allen found his emotions creeping back in the form of irritation, Samuel chuckled.

"What?" Allen griped.

"You know, they say that turkeys will drown themselves by looking at the sky when it rains…" the older man's voice trailed off and the two of them watched the fat droplets of water splatter on Kanda's face, pooling in his eyes to run from the corners like tears. One errant stream slipped off of the Japanese man's lips and ran into his nose. He sneezed.

"Well, he's not dead yet and he's not drowning so he must not be a turkey," Allen reasoned with mock seriousness, glad to have a break in the tense and depressing atmosphere.

"Fancy that."

The two companions stared at each other as though daring their counterpart to laugh. The corners of the Finder's mouth twitched.

"I guess we had better get going," Samuel suggested in order to hide his laughter in the face of Allen's seeming disapproval. Allen nodded vigorously, his white hair fluffing out around his head, not trusting himself to speak and the two of them bent to grip their opposite ends of Kanda's body. They lifted and Kanda's head slipped entirely into his jacket. The white belt ended up around his lower chest. Allen hastened to straighten the swordsman's apparel, dumping the black-haired head on the ground in his rather thoughtless response.

"Allen, calm down," Samuel rebuked. "Just let me take him." Allen began to protest unhappily, but the older and larger man just shoved him out of the way and scooped Kanda up in his strong arms. Pale hair shielded Allen's expression from view, but did nothing to hide that he was sulking. The Finder's long and elastic temper finally snapped.

"Are you going to continue being worthless or are you going to get your scrawny ass up on that gelding so Sleeping Beauty here doesn't fall off?" Samuel snarled, his chocolate-colored eyes hard and flashing with anger. Allen flushed red, his pale skin burning with mingled embarrassment and reciprocal fury. Pale grey eyes became slit-like with rage as the slender exorcist glowered at his only conscious companion. He opened his mouth to reply, cold words already poised on the tip of his tongue, when the Finder cut him off before he could even begin.

"Will you help him or not?"

Their glares met in midair, practically frying the hapless air molecules trapped in between. Suddenly as though shocked by their own actions, both of them broke their eyes away from the deadlock. A queasy feeling of guilt curled in Allen's visceral regions when he and Sam came to the mutual realization that they had been taking the foul mood brought on by Kanda's inexplicable illness, interminable periods of rain, and a lingering sense of foreboding that had dogged them since they had first learned of their mission out on each other.

"Sorry," Allen muttered ashamedly.

"It's alright. I wasn't exactly on my best behavior either," the Finder offered. His grey-eyed companion didn't push him for a full apology, choosing simply to leap up onto the brown-haired man's stolid gelding. Samuel passed Kanda's limp body up to him like so much luggage. Once the two exorcists were settled on the none-too-pleased horse, Samuel untied the gelding and the stud from the heavy gate and pushed open the heavy, iron-barred portal. It swung back ponderously, gliding silently if slowly on its 

thick, well-oiled hinges. Samuel's worried eyes settled on Allen briefly and the exorcist, who was now the mission leader by default, nodded for the Finder to continue. Sam's Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed nervously, but the eldest member of the little trio was equal to his fear and continued down the drive, gravel popping under the horses' hooves and Samuel's booted feet. Allen's knuckles turned white with the force of his apprehensive grip on Kanda's white belt as the Finder stepped under the hefty stone arch that framed the elaborately wrought gates. His grey eyes fastened momentarily on a small iron figure affixed in the dead center of the stone arch above the gates. A sense of familiarity welled up in the white-haired exorcist's mind, but before he could examine the figure more closely, it was hidden behind a good two feet of stone: they had passed under the arch and through the gates.

An indefinable fission of energy crackled across Allen's skin, making his hair stand on end. Kanda let out a long, broken moan and moved for the first time since his collapse in an attempt to hide his face in the crook of Allen's neck. The stricken exorcist trembled in his younger compatriot's arms and the pale, delicate-looking teen held him closer as he tried to stop the shaking. Samuel's face was drawn tight with concern as he paused shortly to shut the gates and restore the padlock to its rightful place before continuing up the walk.

The mansion that slowly drew closer was as cold and austere as the mountains that surrounded it. No light showed in its windows, adding an air of desolation to the place that was reflected in the silvery-grey of its weathered shingle siding, The steeply-pitched roofs with their many gables and thick green tiles matched the jagged skyline of the evergreen grove that huddled around the ends of the manor house, framed between the blocky shapes of the many chimneys. The entire effect was one of fallen grandeur and a brief pang of regret struck the travelling companions at the state of faint disrepair the once-magnificent Gothic-style mansion had fallen into. Rainwater leapt in glittering arcs from the gaping mouths of a few gargoyles that leaned out from the roof.

"Do we just go knock at the door?" Allen asked as Samuel drew the two tired horses around the circular sweep of the gravel drive at the entrance.

"I guess," Samuel responded, sounding doubtful. They stopped at the bottom of a wide flight of stairs leading up to the heavy oaked front doors. Rain continued to splash down on them, further mussing their already-bedraggled appearances.

"This should be good," the pale exorcist quipped acidly. "Knock, knock! We're the exorcists from the Black Order who were sent to investigate the disappearances. Don't mind all of the bloodstains and the mud and the overall sad condition we're in. Oh? The unconscious one? No problem, he'll wake up soon enough!" Samuel met Allen's satirical rendition of their greeting with a wince.

"Sounds pretty bad," he admitted regretfully. "No one is going to let us in the way we are."

No sooner than he had finished speaking, one of the thick double-doors swung open. Bright, warm, golden light spilled out and down the steps, piercing the rain like a lighthouse beacon.

"My goodness! Just bring yourselves and your horses around to the back and I will find a place for both you and them." The voice was strong but showed signs of age in its gritty quality. It took on a scolding tone when they didn't make any motion to comply. "You will catch your death of the cold out there. Hurry along."

Allen and Samuel exchanged glances over the gelding's ears. The Finder shrugged one shoulder and the two of them, the horses, and their unconscious burden set out around the corner of the house, passing trellises laden with withered scarlet roses. Windows drifted by, empty and dark. Two right-hand turns slipped past and they found themselves facing a long, low stable lit softly from within by a straw-colored glow. Framed in one of the open doors, the same old man who had met them at the front waited. He stood aside as Samuel led the two footsore horses into the sweet-smelling miasma of straw and feed and manure that filled the stable. With a groan the tall stud sank down onto his knees to rest his soft grey nose on the dusty floor. The gelding made as if to follow suit until Allen hauled its head back up by dragging at its mane since Samuel still held the reins.

"How fortunate that you have arrived before the storm blew in. Your horses seem most tired," the old man observed, smiling benevolently.

"Yes," Samuel agreed distractedly as he dropped the reins and moved to haul Kanda from the gelding's back. Allen sighed with grateful relief when he was stripped of his burden and swung himself down from the broad brown back to land stiffly and flatfootedly.

"Ouch," he hissed under his breath before turning to address the elderly gent with a bow. "My name is Allen Walker and the man in white is Samuel…" there was a tiny hesitation as the white-haired exorcist discovered that he had no idea what the Finder's last name was, but he rallied magnificently and continued, "and our…indisposed companion is Kanda Yu. We are from the Black Order, here to look into the recent disappearances. We were wondering if you had any information that you would be willing to give us." While the words spilling out of the cursed teen's mouth were calm and courteous, inside he was desperately hoping that their aged benefactor might be willing to allow them to stay in the mansion to recover.

"I am pleased to make you acquaintance," the old gentleman responded with a small, elegant though slightly age-stiffened bow. "My name is Nigel Harrison. You are welcome to stay here for the duration of your investigation. Please feel free to stable your horses and then come to the door. There will be a servant there to show you to your rooms. After a suitable interval, there will be dinner and then we will talk. Will that be acceptable?" Allen's eyes watered with tears of gratitude at the mention of shelter food and rest.

"We would love to accept your offer, thank you so much," the words were practically blubbered out. Samuel shook his head lightly at the grey-eyed exorcist's lack of decorum, but Nigel did not seem to be bothered. Instead, the wiry old man bestowed a fatherly smile upon him before sweeping away toward what was presumably the back door, his step firm and elegant.

Samuel settled Kanda in a convenient pile of straw and then he and Allen made swift work of tending to the horses. The rain continued to fall outside, but in the warm, light atmosphere of the stable, neither could bring themselves to care. Half an hour later, they left the horses resting in two loose boxes, the tack drying on the saddle-racks, and followed a narrow gravel path from the stables to the mansion's back door with Samuel once again carrying Kanda and Allen laden with their luggage. The Finder raised his hand and knocked and the door sprang open almost instantly to admit the trio into a wide, tiled room. A middle-aged servant closed the door behind them and plucked the luggage from a protesting Allen's hands. A second servant, also middle-aged but female, laughed quietly at the white-haired teen's antics.

"Please calm down sir," she scolded gently between peals of laughter. "Let Lane take your things for you so you can help the other gentleman with your friend as we go upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Allen questioned her.

"Yes, the master left instructions for us to put you up in the guest rooms."

Once more the exorcist's clear grey eyes filled with joyful tears and once more Samuel found himself embarrassed for his compatriot who had so obviously experienced little kindness under General Cross's tutelage. The maid smiled at him in a motherly fashion, revealing deep dimples before she resumed her brisk attitude.

"Lane, get those things upstairs and run baths for our guests," she ordered while flapping her blindingly white apron at him like a goose-girl at her flock.

"Yes, ma'am," Lane responded hastily before shuffling off with the damp, stained luggage slung around him. The Finder sent up a silent word of thanks that nothing short of total inundation could render the inner waterproof lining ineffective. The maid watched the other servant go with stern eyes then directed her attention back to her three guests.

"Well, let's get you out of those filthy clothes," she finally ordered, brandishing an empty laundry basket. "There are robes on the pegs over there for you to wear, but guest or not, I won't let anyone track mud and blood and water through this house. The carpets and furniture are older than you are."

Allen was mortified. It was one thing to strip down in a private train compartment with only other men around, though it had certainly been an embarrassing experience, and another thing entirely to do the same in front of a middle-aged, unknown woman. Samuel shot him an amused glance as he pulled off his white cloak and tossed it in the basket with a soft flop. The cloak was followed quickly by his shirt and then the Finder toed out of his boots and pulled off his soaking socks.

"The point is to have a system," the Finder explained, relishing Allen's discomfort while he pulled on one of the robes and tied it shut. In less than ten seconds, Samuel had his pants off without ever exposing himself indecently. The white-haired teen frowned and followed suit, successfully mimicking the elder man with only one minor mishap that briefly revealed quite a bit of pale skinned thigh. Kanda was a bit harder to deal with because he was completely limp so it was like manipulating an over-cooked noodle through a series of tubes. By the time he was changed the robe was a little worse for wear, Allen was rubbing his hip where the end of Mugen's sheathe had bumped into him, and the woman was blushing slightly and eyeing the tall leather boots that were now draped over a bench with no small measure of speculation. Lane returned at that moment and the maid shoved the loaded laundry basket into his arms.

"Take care of this," she commanded him. "And you two come with me. Bring your friend."

"But Lillian!" Lane called after them as she led them through the stately halls and up a wide, sweeping staircase. He was ignored entirely and was soon lost to sight as the little group reached the second floor.

"Your baths have already been run. It is about 4:30 now; dinner will be served at six. There are bell-pulls just inside the doors if you need any help with anything," Lillian rattled off quickly, sounding as though 

she was reading off of a familiar list. "Young man, this will be your room." They had stopped in front of a door almost at the end of the passage that extended to the right of the staircase.

"Where are the others' rooms?" Allen asked. An odd tickle of foreboding had been building in his mind since they had entered the house and he wanted to know where he could find Samuel and Kanda should the need arise.

"The elder gentleman's room is down the hall on the opposite side of the stairs, three doors down on the left. Your other friend's room is just to the right of you at the end of the hall. Would you like me to show you?"

"No, thank you," Samuel said thankfully, shifting Kanda's dead weight in his arms. "I'm sure I can find it."

"Well, then," Lillian smiled, flashing her dimples at them again. "I'll just be off. Remember to use the bell-pulls if you need anything." She turned and swept back down the hall to vanish as she descended to the first floor with her crisp brown uniform dress floating out behind her.

"You go take your bath," Samuel directed in a conversational fashion as soon as she was gone. Allen wondered if Lillian's mannerisms, specifically her commanding nature, had rubbed off on the Finder after so short an exposure. "I'm going to dunk Kanda in his bath a couple of times to get the blood off then put him to bed."

"Don't you want a bath, too?" Allen frowned at his brown-haired companion.

"Of course," Samuel responded a little waspishly. "But we can't just leave Sleeping Beauty in the hall for the servants to trip over and, not to be deliberately rude, you don't smell or look very good. I think that it has a lot to do with riding the rest of the way here while holding onto Kanda, who's soaked in horse blood and reeks like carrion."

"Is it really that bad?" Allen asked sheepishly after a brief pause during which he had made a concerted effort to discretely sniff at himself. The Finder winced.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad. Kanda's worse though if it makes you feel any better."

"No, it doesn't," the cursed exorcist bit out. "I think you have a great idea so if you'll excuse me, I'm getting in the bath." With that, Allen darted into his room and pulled the door shut behind him before practically sprinting into the adjoining bathroom. Allen's jaw dropped.

The bathroom was huge, all white marble and glossy fixtures. The white-haired teen wasn't sure whether he should be delighted or appalled by the grandiosity of the room and its aura which, while it was not as large, or as cold, or as impressive as the gothic or ultramodern, depending on the area, structure that was the Black Order castle, was still imposing enough to make the poor boy think twice about jumping into the vast tub flush with the floor and overflowing with bubbles. Still, his excitement at being presented the opportunity to use a tub nearly large enough to swim in and piled high with spherical soapy delights could not be contained so Allen was forced to split the difference and walk the fine line between his two impulses. The robe hit the ground in a pile of fluffy terrycloth and the now-naked exorcist dipped one pale foot into the bath. His seeking toes vanished under the bubbles up to the ankle before he hit water and was rewarded with the feeling of perfectly heated fluid. He gasped 

with delight, settling his weight on the outstretched foot to descend the stairs into the tub only to discover that there were no stairs, at least on that side of the tub. As a result Allen found himself pitching head-first into the soapy abyss.

There was a huge splash and fountains of soap and water hurtled into the air just to come cascading back down over the pale marble tiles. Meanwhile, back under the bubble layer, the hapless teen was thrashing around in water that was disgustingly deep for a domestic bath. He touched down on the bottom and thrust his head out of the frothy water, gasping for breath. When the surface had finally settled, Allen found that the top of the bubbles grazed the tip of his pointed chin.

"That's just a little dangerous," Allen grumbled. "It's more than enough to drown in and there are no signs or anything." So saying, he leaned back in the water until his feet floated off of the bottom and backstroked to the edge. A small silver dish held assorted toiletries in glass bottles and the under-pampered, over-worked exorcist spent at least five minutes smelling them all and deciding on which one to use before he hauled his prize back to the center of the pool. Somewhere along the way he dropped the stopper and it disappeared into the warm water, but even his nagging sense of guilt was not enough to prompt him to dive down and look for it. Instead he doused his head with the sandalwood scented unguent and scrubbed until his white hair was thoroughly fluffed with bubbles. Just as the soap began stinging his pale grey eyes he dove under and rinsed his hair, spending a truly ridiculous amount of time chasing out the last of the shampoo from the silky strands.

The soap went a little more quickly than the shampoo and he was entirely clean in a matter of moments. Still, he was loath to crawl out of the warm, fragrant water so he loafed around in it for a while longer until his fingertips began to wrinkle. At that point he floundered over to the edge and hauled out onto the marble rim like a tired seal. He snatched up a green fluffy towel from an enormous heap of green fluffy towels and draped it over his head and around his shoulders, massaging the water out of his damp locks.

"Clothes, clothes," the willowy exorcist muttered as he stumped back into his newly-appointed bedroom to find his luggage, which was on a wide bench that spanned the whole foot of the queen-sized bed. He undid the clasps with one hand while reaching in with the other and was rewarded with a sharp bolt of pain from his questing fingers. The pale-haired teen yelped and withdrew his hand to stick his bleeding fingers into his mouth. The luggage wriggled furiously, discharging several pieces of clothing onto the floor before a small, golden ball flopped out looking crumpled and disheveled.

"Timcampy!" Allen garbled from around his fingers while still managing to sound surprised, contrite, and confused. The golem emitted an odd, high pitched, whirring shriek then gaped its jaws. A hologram poured out from the tiny projector, flickering and ghostly in the half-light of the bedroom. Allen found himself wishing that he had taken the time to flip on the lights before he had taken his plunge into his bath, but that thought faded as he watched the little image.

A faux image of Allen stuffed a faux image of Timcampy into the front of his uniform jacket and leapt into a tiny boat with Kanda. There was a blur while Timcampy fast-forwarded through a lot of black. The next image was sideways and half blocked by the dripping edge of Allen's now-removed jacket. Allen and Samuel were standing with their backs toward Kanda, obviously embarrassed by the swordsman's shameless display. The image zoomed in to Kanda's face. His expression was his normal scowl, only lightly relieved by his amusement at the expense of his two companions. Then, as if some internal shutter had been ripped open, the typical boredom was replaced with anger that met in ungodly 

harmony with the vicious cunning inherent in his nature. His broad, calloused hand descended and clamped down over Timcampy's face. Tiny golden wings fluttered uselessly against their constraints as the golem was lifted up to Kanda's eyelevel. Deep blue eyes gazed at and through Timcampy before Kanda shoved his captive roughly into Allen's half-open luggage and zipped the case shut. There was silence and the hologram, which had only been showing black for some seconds now, flicked off.

"You mean to tell me that you've been trapped in my luggage since we got on the train?" Allen asked bemusedly. Timcampy glared as well as a little golden golem can glare and flashed a quick hologram of Kanda during the fight at Matel where Kanda appeared torn and bloody and smashed into a wall. He had superimposed a figure of himself laughing.

"You shouldn't do that, Tim," the cursed teen scolded gently. Timcampy looked slightly abashed but remained defiant. Allen frowned with thought and continued slowly, "but why would Kanda put you in a suitcase?"

Just then, a loud tinkling jangle collided with Allen's eardrums like a train-wreck.

"God, that's awful," he muttered while rubbing gently at one ear. "What is that?" A knock on his bedroom door alerted him to a visitor.

"It's dinnertime, Allen," came Lillian's strong, English-accented tones. "Would you like me to accompany you down to the dining room?"

"Yes, please," Allen replied in his most polite manner as he moved to leave his room. It was about at that time that he noticed a rather strong draught around his nether regions and found that in his intent listening to Timcampy, he had never actually put on any clothes. His pale skin flushed darkly red and he offered a silent thanks that he had not yet gotten to the door.

"Uhm," he stammered slightly. "Can you—can you come back in about five minutes?"

"Certainly," Lillian responded cheerfully. Her amused tone made poor Allen think that she was laughing at him, but she probably was considering how high Allen's voice had jumped in his surprise. He listened carefully to her footsteps as they diminished in the direction of Samuel's room. Once he was sure she was gone, Allen dove for his suitcase and dug out a crisp, white shirt, his thin little red bowtie and his usual black pants then threw them on with an unseemly amount of haste, nearly catching himself in his own zipper in the process. He finished pulling on his vest just as Lillian knocked again.

"Come on, Tim," Allen called to Cross's golem. Timcampy fluttered after the cursed teen like some freakish golden bat and they exited the room into the company of Lillian and Samuel.

"How's Kanda," Allen said by way of greeting.

"He's still out," Samuel responded while scratching his short wet hair absently.

"Would you like me to summon a doctor to look at you friend?" Lillian asked in a concerned voice. Allen and Samuel exchanged looks several times, each wondering what exactly the other was thinking. Finally Allen just spoke cautiously.

"No thank you," the exorcist muttered. "He should be getting up again soon, but I think that it's still too early to be really worried."

They finished their walk to the dining room in reflective silence, passing down the sweeping staircase and through wide mirrored halls into an elegant and gracious wood paneled room. Nigel stood at the head of a mahogany table, waiting for them. Lillian bobbed a curtsy at him before she left quietly and closed the door behind her.

"Please be seated," the elderly gentleman invited while gesturing at the seats to either side of him. "I take it that your companion will not be joining us tonight?"

"No, his is still indisposed," Samuel sighed in a resigned, ultra-formal mode.

"That is a pity. My condolences."

The three sat down with Nigel at the head and Samuel and Allen a little further down on either side. The male servant, Lane, appeared through a side panel and whisked away the fourth, unnecessary setting. Almost immediately, Lillian followed and placed covered, steaming plates into the table in front of each person with exquisite care. Lane came back and filled their cut-crystal goblets with a rich red wine while Lillian removed the covers from their plates. Both servants bowed or curtsied according to gender and left. The side panel closed.

Samuel and Allen had long since frozen, completely afraid of disrupting the graceful routine of the servants or some other such equally absurd thing. Apparently Nigel construed their stillness as respect because he took the opportunity to say grace before starting in on his steak. Allen rallied beautifully in the face of food and was soon stuffing himself with as much steak and potato and salad at one time as was socially acceptable. His accompanying Finder sighed and consumed his own plateful at a more sedate pace.

Dinner passed quietly and pleasantly. When it was over, Nigel's eyes were still popping slightly at the amount of edibles Allen's slim frame could hold.

"Perhaps we should retire to the parlor so that we can converse more conveniently," Mr. Harrison remarked while pointedly directing his gaze at Allen, who was perusing the table for something more to consume.

"I think that might be best," Samuel agreed as his white-haired companion seized some infinitesimally small crumb and gnawed it like a squirrel.

"Very well, this way," their elderly host directed, standing and moving to yet another cunningly hidden wall panel. Samuel tailed him and dragged Allen behind him in a trail of bitter tears.

The parlor was smaller than the dining room, but it still managed to appear far larger due to its ranks of floor-to-ceiling windows that marched down one entire wall. Behind each clear pane of glass a formal garden sprawled out, cloaked in darkness and drenched in rain. Allen could just barely make out the shadowy form of a tall topiary giraffe at one end of the garden.

The dark vista that spread out before them distracted both companions for some time until their attention was reclaimed by the sudden spread of a wash of warm golden light in the dim gloom of the parlor. Lane had entered the parlor in his usual silent way and had lit a fire in the fireplace's cavernous mouth. Samuel made an appreciative noise deep in the throat and moved to sit in a nearby chair in order to better enjoy the radiating warmth and light. Nigel smiled at him benevolently and settled himself into another, similar chair. Across the room the cursed teen's clear gray eyes had fallen on an exquisite painting above the mantel. Its subject was a young woman, unearthly in her beauty with long tresses of golden hair cascading around her in silken showers. Her hands were folded gently on her knees and a small teasing smile played about her lightly painted lips. Her satin and silk gown flowed in frothy waves around her slender body like a cloud of sea-foam green.

"Excuse me," Allen interrupted the light small-talk that had been struck up between the Finder and Mr. Harrison, "but who is that woman in the picture?" Nigel stiffened and straightened perceptibly and the atmosphere of the room grew heavy with dark sadness.

"Her name was Evangeline Graciêr. She was the woman who would have been my wife."

"I'm sorry," the now-ashamed exorcist apologized hurriedly. "I didn't mean to bring up any painful memories."

Tension ebbed and eased from the room and Nigel's expression softened as he gracefully accepted Allen's clumsy apology. "There was no harm done. You could not have known of my relation to her."

The humbled teen slumped under his spiritual burden of causing pain for his elderly benefactor. Samuel noticed and stepped in quickly to prevent any further damage.

"Forgive me for interrupting, sir," Samuel spoke calmly in a dazzling display of interventional mediation. "You said you might have some information about the recent disappearances."

"Yes. I assume from your dress that you two are associates of the men who came earlier?" Nigel's face assumed grave lines and he settled more deeply in his chair while folding his hands in his lap.

"You saw the Finders?" Allen blurted in a rush, hoping to hear good news to contradict the terrible story he had been told on the train.

"Ah, yes, they did introduce themselves as such though I had forgotten. Yes, I saw many Finders. I do dislike being the bearer of ill news, but I feel obliged to tell you—I am very sorry—that none of them are currently…they have all passed on."

"Oh." The cursed teen slumped where he stood and lowered his head enough that a fine film of his silky white hair fell over his eyes so that he could hide the tears that pricked at their corners. Samuel, too, felt the loss of the ten Finders with whom he had worked, lived and fought.

"So Kazuki really is dead after all," the strong, brown-haired man mulled quietly.

"Did you perhaps come to return their bodies to their families?" their aged, stately host asked in sympathetic tones. His question was mostly wasted as both of his guests were too involved in their own thoughts to respond immediately.

Damn it, Komui! Allen raged internally. Ten people dead and for what? We know nothing more now that when we started! Return their bodies to their families? No! We can't even do that! Something of great importance niggled at the back of his mind until the young, emotionally overtaxed exorcist seized hold of it and pulled it into the realm of conscious thought. Wait. Bodies? He followed up his thought with a question to Nigel who continued to wait patiently.

"Their bodies are still here?"

"Yes," the gentleman responded and rubbed the back of one hand to soothe his arthritic knuckles. "They are here, actually, in the crypt. I must confess that I was not sure where to send their bodies or even news of their death, so I placed them in the crypt with my own predecessors."

By this time Samuel had recovered from his grief sufficiently to allow conversation and, after wiping a stray tear from his cheek, he spoke in soft tones: "We will call the Order headquarters and have them send a dispatch to take the Finders back. May we see the bodies?"

"Of course," their host seemed surprised that the Finder felt that he had to ask for such a thing. "Though perhaps you would wish to wait until the morning when you are less overwrought. Already it is quite late."

Samuel opened his mouth to object to this suggestion, but was not able to give voice to his dissent as Allen, having recognized the merits of Nigel's statement, smoothly directed the conversation down a different track.

"You wouldn't be able to tell us about the other disappearances, would you?"

"Other disappearances?" Nigel mused. "Yes, there were four before the first Finder arrived and another villager was found dead later. Four young ladies and a little boy."

"Where were they when they went missing? They did go missing, right? They didn't…aren't like the Finders?" Allen stumbled over his last words as he sought something that sounded less unpleasant than 'die.'

"There is a road that cuts through the forest on the back of the property that the villagers use to take goods to the market some twenty miles further west. All five of the victims disappeared on that road," informed the dapper old gent. Allen's face went slack with stunned realization.

"You mean we all nearly died on that cliff getting here when we could have taken a road safe enough to take wagons on?" the poor teen was nearly in tears and he shook his head in an attempt to alter the truth through sheer denial.

"I will assume from your reaction that you went over the mountain. Your road is the shortest, most expedient route," there was sympathy in Nigel's voice as he explained. "The villager's road is some sixty miles longer but infinitely safer. At least safer in the past."

"But the five villagers' bodies weren't found?" Sam queried, automatically beginning the questioning that was ingrained in every Finder's psyche.

"That is correct. I myself saw every site from which one of the disappearances or a Finder's death was reported."

"You must really get around a lot," Allen remarked admiringly as if he, too, wished to be so spry in his old age.

"Goodness, no," Nigel half-laughed. "I have to take the carriage. I go because it is my responsibility to investigate the major incidents on my property."

"Would you take us to these places in the morning after we pay our respects to the Finders?"

"Certainly. I will have Lane hitch my horses after breakfast so that the carriage is ready whenever you would like to go."

The door creaked open behind them and Lillian slipped in, wiping her hands on her crisp, starched white apron.

"Is there anything more you would like before you retire, sirs?" she inquired politely after completing her short curtsy.

"No, thank you, Lillian," Nigel replied before returning his attention to Sam and Allen. "It is quite late. I suggest that we all retire for the night and reconvene for breakfast in the morning. Lillian will show you to your rooms."

Allen and Samuel gazed blankly at their host for some moments before Lillian discreetly cleared her throat and made it obvious that they had been dismissed. Blushing slightly and rueful, the two Black Order companions rose and trailed after the maid like ducklings after their mother. Allen was the first to peel away from the line and having uttered a half-hearted goodnight to Samuel who barely acknowledged it with a short nod, the white-haired teen slipped into his room and shut the door behind himself with a grateful sigh.

"Gods, what a day," he groaned and raked one hand through his unruly mane until the pale hairs stuck out at a thousand different angles, whereupon he gave up on pushing his worries out of his head by manual force alone. He sighed again and turned to face the wall that divided his room from Kanda's.

"So inconsiderate," Allen grumbled. "It would figure that he would choose to remain completely out of it at the worst possible time." So saying, the exorcist toed off his lace-up boots and flung himself face-down into the vast guest bed standing back and center against the far wall. After a while he pulled off his little red necktie and rolled over to crawl underneath the downy blankets. A yawn bisected his head.

"G'night, Tim," the cursed teen called into the pleasant darkness of his room to the little golem who had followed and recorded everything faithfully. Timcampy fluttered its wings in reply and settled gently onto Allen's head in its customary position just behind Allen's left ear. The pale boy reached out with his red skinned, cross-marked hand to draw the mussed bedclothes up to his pointed chin and there in the deep quiet of his bedroom his pale lashes dropped down to brush his high cheeks. Timcampy stretched its wings and snuggled closer to the smooth skin behind Allen's ear, its cold metal skin rubbing the fragile flesh. Distressed slightly by the sensation, the cursed teen tipped his head to trap Timcampy 

against his shoulder. Cross's golem shifted until its wings prodded Allen's cheek and listened to the exorcist's deep, even breaths as he drifted into slumber.

Hours passed quietly, slipping by like a thief in the night. The hands of the clock rolled around the numbered face in a stately waltz until the short, fat hand pointed accusingly at the three. Its companion, taller and slimmer, stood to its rear and directed its head at the bold ten. Timcampy shifted again and recorded the time; a greenish 3:50 a.m. blinked across its little recording lens. The golem's perch stirred in his sleep so that he could clutch at his pillow and wriggle further into his protective cocoon of blankets.

Outside the stars were veiled by low rain clouds that loomed darkly over the steep peaked gables. Water slashed down from above in dense sheets to pound against the thick windows and to rattle about in the gutters on its way to the downspouts. The constant noise f the storm made the mansion seem quieter somehow as it muffled all of the sounds of normal nights: doors opening and closing, clocks ticking, bedsprings creaking softly as their occupants moved to get more comfortable. Still, the rolling tattoo of the rain drumming on the tiled roofs couldn't mask every disturbance so what happened there in the midnight cloaked halls of the dimly lit mansion at 3:37 a.m. did not pass into oblivion unheard.

Allen's peaceful dreams shattered and were blown away like dust in the wind while he thrashed his way back into the realm of consciousness, flinging bedclothes every which way in his haste to untangle himself from the sheets and to scramble from the mattress.

And in the room next door, the sound reverberating against the walls, Kanda howled out another bloodcurdling shriek.


Hello, all. It has been a truly obscene amount of time since I last updated, but rest easy. Despite all appearances I am not dead. This story will be finished. You will have resolution and explanation and clarification, though not necessarily in that order. On a happier note, aren't you all happy that Kanda is coming back as an actual character rather than just a convenient prop? I am.

Just wait. This story will be even more fun from here on out. Trust me.